Finally Going Right
by WomanWarrior
Summary: The usual fight results in Hermione dragging Ron to the library. On the way back, they get into a fight again. Slightly fluffy & RHr.


_**Disclaimer:** I own all the Harry Potter books, and this plot, but that is all of Harry Potter that I own._

_**Author's Note:** This is a random plot bunny that came to me sometime last night. Of course, it wouldn't leave me alone until it was down on paper. It's a one-shot, and no, it's not going to get any longer. The ending was somewhat influenced by one of my friends and Hermione's choice of reading material is influenced by me, definitely. Yeah, it's probably out-of-character, but no one ever said she didn't. So therefore, let the reading begin!_

The sky was endlessly gray; rain had been falling on and off for the past two weeks. The grounds were sloppy mud, cloak-hems and shoes continually wet, and most people were quite anxious for the weather to clear up. Harry and Ron were impatient to get outside for some proper Quidditch practice as Harry had cut it short so many times now due to the team's general unwillingness to play in such nasty conditions.

However, I must admit, I like this weather. It's comforting, the streams of water rolling down the window panes. It's very much sympathetic weather, the sort where you can stay inside, not feeling guilty about eating too many chocolate frogs and lazing about in the common room. Rather than mocking your depression, it shares your feelings of pathetic-ness.

Realizing that I hadn't turned a page – _Magical Mapmaking from Ancient Civilizations to Modern Day_ was actually quite interesting – in several minutes, I hurriedly flipped one and pretended to continue reading.

"Hey, Hermione, will you play chess with me?"

I sighed. It was only about the fiftieth time today he'd asked – Harry was tired of getting beaten, Ginny was tired of getting beaten, and so was I. There's only so much to do inside when going outside is a risk to your health and well-being. "Not really, Ron. I think you want to play me just because you can beat me more easily than even Harry or Ginny."

"No, really, Hermione! You're good. You've gotten better. Ginny's doing homework and Harry's planning practices for the next time we actually see the sun. Haven't you read enough today, anyways?"

"Ron, can't you ask Seamus or someone to play? _Magical Mapmaking from Ancient Civilizations to Modern Day_ is actually quite an interesting read. I'm very much enjoying myself at the moment."

"Fine then, read your _Magical Mapmaking for Dummies Who Read Too Much_ until your best friend Ron wastes away from boredom then! Don't worry about anyone else!"

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to shut the book slowly without throwing it at his head. He was close enough, too, that I might actually have hit him. "Ron…"

"Don't you 'Ron…' me, Hermione!" The extra emphasis on 'Hermione' did not go unnoticed.

"Well, don't you 'Hermione' me, either! You do realize that actually taking interest in something other than Quidditch and chess might do your ten remaining brain cells some good!"

"Actually separating yourself from those books might be good for you, too!" By this time, Ron's ears were bright red, which was a bad sign.

I got up from the squishy chair, drawing myself to my full height of exactly five-foot-four. "You know, there's a few Muggle picture books in the library that just might do well for you. You may actually be able to comprehend them!"

"Damn it, Hermione! You could--"

I cut him off. "You could stop swearing! It's really not necessary, and it certainly doesn't contribute to anybody's intelligent conversations, either!"

"Oh, intelligent conversations, is that what we're having?"

I could no longer stop myself. Raising my wand – it was always better to do things magically around Ron, because he could catch things I threw at him and throw them right back, but he usually didn't know the proper counter-spell for anything – I sent the book and several others that were on the end table next to my chair flying at his head in rapid succession.

It was quite comical, watching the usually immovable, tall seventeen-year-old try to protect himself from the flapping books. "Get… the bloody things… away from… me!" he spat, spitting out a creative string of four-letter words afterwards.

"What was that, Ron?" I asked sweetly. Time to change tactics. Yelling wasn't getting me anything.

"I SAID, GET THE BLOODY THINGS AWAY FROM ME!"

"First, you have to ask nicely without swearing. Secondly, you need to agree to my terms."

He grumbled something under his breath, something that I didn't quite catch and wasn't sure I wanted to before finally agreeing. "Hermione, would you PLEASE get these… books to stop attacking me? And whatever your terms are, I agree to them! Just get the books off!"

Ah, perfect. Knowing Ron for seven years, the trap had been laid, and he'd stepped right on the trigger. Good for him. Waving my wand again, the books flew back to a neat pile on the table. Pointing the wand somewhat menacingly in his direction, I began. "Now. Since you agreed to the terms… Number one, you will stop bothering me to play chess." I held up a finger to demonstrate. "Number two, we're going to the library to find you a book to read. You are going to read it cover-to-cover, for enjoyment, because I said so." I hoped my voice was the right cross between sarcasm and honey. "And, when we walk to the library, you are going to carry my books to return, not swear, and not step on my feet!"

I had him cowed. "Oh."

Picking up the stack of books, I shoved it at him. "Your sister does a very good bat-bogey hex, you know, and she just so happens to be one of my best friends. Now, let's go! I don't have all day!"

"Shhh!" Madam Pince shushed us adamantly.

"Hermione, I'm not going to read a book about Muggle sports! That's hitting tiny balls with sticks! It's boring!" Ron continued his protests, though slightly softer now.

"Fine then. How about this one, about the origins of chess?"

"That has to be five hundred pages long!"

I flipped to the end. "No, it's only two hundred and twelve. That's short."

"Alright then, maybe this one. _Strategy for the Experienced Chess Player_. Maybe it would keep you from bothering us about playing chess when you know you'll win."

Grudgingly, he took it out of my hands and flipped through. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. I'll get this one."

"Wonderful. Now you can help me look."

He groaned loudly, enough so to earn another shushing from Madam Pince. "Hermione, I haven't got all day!"

"Oh? And what did you plan to do? Last I checked, it was still raining outside, and since you always leave your homework to the last minute…"

"Fine, fine. Whatever." He followed me down the aisles, adding each book I handed him – _Magical Herbal Remedies for Many Maladies, Ancient Greek Magic and Its Influence on Today, _and _Fighting for the Light: Powerful Forces of Yesterday_. Finally, I floated down the fiction rack.

It's my secret bad habit. I read romances late at night, because Merlin knows that I don't have any romance in my life. Pulling out a copy marked New in small magical letters on the spine, I noted excitedly that it was Tamsin Conte's latest. Her novels were the best, well-written and usually with a red-headed hero. Setting it on the top of the stack in Ron's arms, I suddenly realized my faux pas.

"You… read these? Hermione? Romance?" He looked back and forth from me to the cover of the book. Too late, I realized that it featured a redheaded man, shirtless, passionately kissing a brunette with a big chest. Like me and Ron, except we fight, not kiss, and I don't have that big a chest. Unfortunately. Seventeen year old boys notice girls with big chests.

"Yes, I do! Now, Madam Pince needs to stamp these for us. Come on!" I quickly dragged him over to the front desk before he could comment any more on my indulgences in fluffy novels.

"Hermione, I never thought I'd see you reading something besides one of those boring old paving-bricks you normally read."

"Ron, can't you just drop it!" I continued walking briskly, ignoring what had to be his millionth attempt to comment of my choice of reading.

"No, actually I can't!"

"Well, you just don't know me as well as you thought you did. Maybe if you tried talking to me for once rather than bothering me about Quidditch or chess or _doing your homework for you_…" My voice became dangerously strained on the last five words.

"So you want me to talk to you, is that it? News flash, Hermione, I've been talking to you for seven years. And if you don't appreciate my company, then here! Take your stupid books! I'm leaving!" He shoved the stack of books at me, and not even taking the time to grab his off the pile, stormed away down the hall.

By this time, I was something of a mess. My robes were partially unfastened, and my hair had come out of its ponytail to frizz around my face. I was stuck with a stack of books and no company. Rolling my eyes, I tried to run after him.

Well, newsflash. Running while carrying ten or so books doesn't work all that well, especially when you're wearing robes rather than jeans and trainers. About ten feet down the hall, I crashed in what I suppose was spectacular style. It involved me, a suit of armor, all the books flying, and my getting an up-close-and-personal look at Filch's cleaning job of the Hogwarts halls.

To top off the oh-so-wonderful day I was having, I now had a small rivulet of blood running down one elbow from where it had hit the stone floor especially hard. And, against all my sensible-ness, tears were running down my face. Bumping rather hard into a suit of armor and then having the floor rush up to meet you quite hard is actually painful. Certainly, it's not an experience I recommend.

I rolled over rather pathetically and attempted to stand. A stab of pain shot through my ankle. "Ron!" I called, hoping that he would acknowledge me.

He did. He turned around, and seeing me sprawled on the floor with books spread around me, jogged over. "What happened? I heard something, but… Are you all right?"

"No… My ankle. I can't stand on it," I moaned. Now it was starting to hurt, and so was my elbow.

"Come on, lean on me. We'll get you to Madam Pomfrey. _Accio _books!" The books fell into a neat stack, which he set next to the suit of armor I had run into. Helping me up, we quickly realized that my leaning on him wouldn't work. I couldn't comfortably wrap my arm around his shoulders – he was that much taller than me.

I took a deep breath. "I'll manage," I said, trying to act like it was nothing. Unfortunately, it didn't work too well. The second I was standing alone, I collapsed, letting out a small shriek of pain.

"No you can't," he replied. "And since I can't float you magically through the hallways, I guess I'm going to have to carry you."

I didn't protest. I didn't want to be floated through the hallways anyways; it's so undignified, even less so than being carried. I wrapped my arms around his neck, books forgotten by the suit of armor. "Hold on," he whispered needlessly.

Half an hour later, I was cleared by Madam Pomfrey to leave the hospital wing. I had only sprained my ankle, and while she was able to heal it easily, she encouraged me to wear an ankle brace for a few days. Ron, surprisingly, had sat patiently waiting for the nurse to let me leave.

I stood up and walked over to Ron. "Let's go, shall we?"

"Yeah."

When we were out in the hall, I stopped suddenly. "Ron, would you tell me something?"

"Um, sure. Anything."

"Why do we fight so much?"

"Some people say it's because we, well, because we like each other. Others say it's because we're complete opposites and shouldn't be friends in the first place. Still others say it's simply because we're teens and we'll stop eventually."

"Ron? What do you think?" I was afraid of his answer, but I had to know.

"Me?" A blush suffused his face, which I found horribly cute and so completely Ron-like. "I… I don't know. You're the smart one, you should know."

"Well, we fought like this when we were eleven, which was not our teens. Our friendship has lasted for seven years, and hopefully will last longer. And I like you a lot." By this time, I was pretty sure I was blushing furiously as well, and my voice had sped up and gotten squeaky near the end.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. We had danced around it for much too long.

As much as I want to say that our first kiss was the perfect kind, with fireworks exploding in the background – like a romance novel – it wasn't. Despite all his practice with Lavender last year, we still bumped noses on our first try. When our lips finally met, it wasn't accentuated by fireworks. It was simply the feel and taste of his lips on mine, his scent, and the supreme comfort that something was finally going right in this world.

_**Final Author's Note:** I'm not entirely sure how good this was. It's not my first attempt at writing Harry Potter fanfiction, nor will it be my last. Don't hesitate to speak out and let me know what you think!_


End file.
